Page 261 of My Rules

But now to know that I was too late ... by a few weeks.

If I’d gone two months earlier, would he have been single? Would he have considered my offer?

So many what-ifs, and not one damn answer.

Some days, I win. I have my ducks in a row, and I’m looking forward to the move, and Daisy and I walk for miles.

Some days, I can’t get out of bed for my hatred of the entire male species.

To make matters worse, the dating pool at my age is not a pool at all. It’s more like a muddy puddle. There’s no plenty of fish in the sea, just mangy, three-eyed tadpoles.

I slump down onto the kitchen stool and take out my phone and scroll through to Blake’s Instagram. No new posts.

He hasn’t posted for two years. I really wish that he would, because damn it, I’m dying not knowing what’s going on in New York.

So, of course, my next move is to do something completely toxic and unproductive: I scroll to his girlfriend’s page to see if she’s putting up any more posts of my beloved.

She hasn’t. No posts in the five weeks since I left there.

I wonder, did he tell her about our night together?

I doubt he would have.

When I was in my fix-myself era, I went on a few dates with people and did the deed a few times, more because I felt like I needed to than because I wanted to.

And honestly, sex without Blake really isn’t that great.

At all.

Just like he promised, that damn piercing of his has ruined me for all other men.

Maybe having a life partner isn’t in my future. Maybe I’ll be an animal mom instead of a human mom.

That’s okay. Nobody could love me more than my little Daisy does.

My mind flicks back to the night that Blake gave her to me in the basket, on the most magical Christmas Eve of my life.

I smile sadly at the memory.

You know what? I was blessed, because at least I got to know what it felt like to be loved by a man like him, even if only for a short period of time.

I’ll be okay, whatever happens, and screw him—I’m not looking them up anymore.

They can move to the moon to start up a new hospital for aliens, for all I care.

I tape up another box and get back to work. Why the hell do I have so much kitchen crap?

Knock, knock.

Henley appears. “Hey, Bec.”

“Hi, is Jules home?”

“No, she’ll be back soon; she’s gone to get some milk. Do you want to wait for her? She’ll only be a minute.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll just sit here.” I sit down on the front step, and he sits down beside me.

It’s funny between us now. Ever since that weekend where Blake and I ... well, the log cabin incident, Henley has kept me at arm’s length, and I know why.

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